


Hen Night

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 15:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7112077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Most anyone else probably wouldn’t recognize him, but Arya’s seen him in that exact same welding gear down at Beric’s shop more times than she can count. Even his sooty arms (arms she’d ogled every time he was focused on working instead of talking to her) look familiar, though it’s probably make-up making those smudges right now, instead of actual grease and dirt. Make-up or grease, the effect is the same. Better, really, since Gendry as an auto-body welder is hot, but Gendry as a welder moonlighting as a stripper is hot and <i>hilarious</i>, and being amused has always kind of been an aphrodisiac for Arya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hen Night

**Author's Note:**

> For the valar_morekinks kinkmeme prompt: Arya/Gendry Flashdance AU (initially prompted without the genderswap, but the genderswap spoke to me)

It’s an evening Arya had been prepared to suffer through. Sansa’s impending wedding has already come with plenty of things like that: the shower that their mother threw (heavy on the kitchen gadgets), the shower that the Tyrells threw (heavy on the racy knickers), the shower that Margaery and her cousins threw (straight up sex toys, and that one was worth it just for the look on her mother’s face at the gift bag full of nothing but different flavors of lube). Arya had known going in that she probably wouldn’t enjoy Margaery’s idea of a hen do.

That was before Gendry showed up on stage in the same bloody welding mask she’d seen him in this afternoon, shaking his arse for a pack of screaming women going mad for him. Now, watching him writhe like a…well, a stripper, Arya’s suddenly very glad she ceded control of this particular pre-wedding activity to Margaery.

Most anyone else probably wouldn’t recognize him, but Arya’s seen him in that exact same welding gear down at Beric’s shop more times than she can count. Even his sooty arms (arms she’d ogled every time he was focused on working instead of talking to her) look familiar, though it’s probably make-up making those smudges right now, instead of actual grease and dirt. Make-up or grease, the effect is the same. Better, really, since Gendry as an auto-body welder is hot, but Gendry as a welder moonlighting as a stripper is hot and _hilarious_ , and being amused has always kind of been an aphrodisiac for Arya.

He’s actually good. She has to admit it, much to her surprise. When he first came out on stage and she realized who he was, she figured he’d be more the posing muscleman type and not much of a dancer. He’s never shown any sort of rhythm before. He doesn’t even nod his head in the shop at whatever music is on. He’s got plenty of rhythm now, though. It’s some old song from the 90s, something heavy and driving, with a chorus about wanting to fuck someone like an animal. A bit obvious, that, but effective. She watches him move around the ring of women watching him, touching them far more freely than she’s ever seen him do with anyone at the shop. God, if he acted like this at the shop, Arya might have died by now of sexual frustration, so it’s probably a good thing he doesn’t.

When he makes his way to their side of the room, he doesn’t seem to see her at first. There’s almost a distance on his face, like he’s going through the motions of his job more than he’s taking any particular enjoyment out of wagging his pickle at shrieking women. Then he sees her. For a second, Arya holds her breath. She wouldn’t put it past him to pretend he doesn’t recognize her. It’s an unfounded thought, though. His face drops into comic dismay at her, but he keeps moving, sticking out his hip almost unthinkingly for one of Margaery’s cousins to tuck some notes under the waistband of his pants. His stomach is like a washboard, and Alinor gets in a quick feel before he moves towards Arya.

”Hiya,” she shouts, smiling cheerily at him. 

“What the bloody fuck are you doing here?” he demands.

“Is that any way to speak to a paying customer?” she asks. She has to lean close to him to be heard. She can smell him, hot and sweaty, with the spicy smell of cologne underneath. He’d smell like that in bed, she realizes. It’s a lot.

“Don’t see any notes in that hand of yours,” he comes back. Instantly, Margaery thrusts a fist clutching an absurd wad of bills under Arya’s nose. Arya glances over at her to find her grinning merrily. She may be a complete princess about things, but she’s definitely growing on Arya.

“Am now,” Arya tells him. She takes the notes from Margaery and waves them under Gendry’s nose. Rolling his eyes, he dances closer to her, spreading his arms to either side and thrusting his hips at her, as if he’s daring her to stick the notes right by his junk. Joke’s on him, Arya’s _dying_ to do just that. His eyes widen when she plunges her hand as deeply as she dares, way too deeply, and her knuckles brush his cock. The smallest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips, like he’s only just seeing her for the first time.

“Nice song choice!” she yells at him. “Bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Shut it,” he says, but he mutters it and she can’t hear him over the music so he just kind of mouths it at her. It’s strange, but watching his lips move from this close really just makes her want him to kiss her. Maybe do other things to her with his mouth. Then he grabs her hips and grinds against them and she pretty much wants him to do everything with everything on everything to her. Her hands slip against his shoulders. There are probably rules against getting too personal with the dancers, but Arya would rather get yelled at after than wait around for permission first. Gendry doesn’t seem to mind, either. His heart is pounding under her palm and his hands on her hips flex tightly enough to give her all sorts of ideas. She thinks he might actually be on the verge of kissing her when some woman next to her starts pawing at him and throwing money in his face, and whatever’s going on between them breaks. Arya doesn’t mind, though, not when he glances back at her at least three times after he’s moved past, and again when he’s wrapped up and heading off-stage. The night’s young. And she’s not nearly through with Margaery’s money yet.

Sansa finds her at the bar later, still wearing the absurd bobbing penis headband Margaery kitted her out in, a sash reading Bride-to-be in rhinestones across her chest. Her cheeks are pink but her eyes are bright, and she looks overwhelmed but happy.

“Are you having fun?” Sansa shouts.

“Yeah,” Arya shouts back, giving Sansa an encouraging smile. They mostly get along great these days, but the old friction sometimes pops back up and Arya knows Sansa frets about it.

“Oh good! I’d worried you’d hate it. It’s a little… Well, it’s all kind of silly, isn’t it?” Sansa laughs and reaches up to give one of the penis antennae a little flick that sends it bouncing crazily. “Margaery wants to stay through a few more dances. Is that alright with you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Arya sees Gendry stepping on to the stage again. He’s dressed like a fireman this time, complete with a helmet and a coiled length of hose over his shoulder. She smiles at Sansa and gives her arm a squeeze.

“I’ll manage somehow,” she says.


End file.
